


The Boy With Golden Eyes

by Anonymous



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kidnapping, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, by pirates!, or at least attempting to portray it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2020-02-07 12:53:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18621025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Just a few years after he is recognized as Balbadd’s third prince, a young Alibaba is kidnapped by sea pirates.Through a series of "rescues" (by both pirates and passing merchants), he somehow lands his way into Sindria, the place he’s always wanted to visit...Except, he has to go back home now.But how could anyone ever accept to bring him back, when he is a child with nothing to his name and no proof of his identity?He will just have to work until he has enough money, hiding any trace of his true identity by darkening his hair with black soot and ink… or maybe a lucky encounter with Sindria’s King will help. If only Alibaba knew what the king looked like…...At least, there’s this purple-haired fellow who’s friendly enough with him...





	1. Sindria

Life in Sindria is surprisingly simple.

In books, life in Sindria is portrayed as heavenly. Tropical fruits, exotic clothes, riches for everyone, constant cheer... The Royal Palace, the King, his Generals... It appears as a country in which tales come true—for in fact, it is a land born from its King's adventure tale.

In this Sindria, lives a boy named "Ali."

Limbs loose and lanky, hair dark as ink, and eyes golden like the sun, he is often seen at the docks, watching the ships come and go with strange intensity. Said to have arrived on a merchant ship with his (absentee) parents, this boy works every day for Old Man Barto, lifting and transporting the ship's cargos with surprising strength.

A strange, unremarkable boy.

.

.

.

Life in Sindria is said to be simple.

Alibaba has been living there for one entire month already. Each day, he comes to the docks and sits on the pier, hoping that, one day, his limbs will stop locking up at the sight of the ships. Even the sound of the waves brings him back to his journey with the pirates, to the days when he feared every moment, every movement from his captors.

He's been recuperating for a month by now, so why hasn't he healed yet?

Life in Sindria... is surprisingly hard.

Not because of Sindria itself. Living here is comfortable—there is no need for slums here. No, what bothers Alibaba is not Sindria, nor its inhabitants. It's the constant sorrow weighing on his heart: the loneliness of being alone, far from home; the grief of losing everything from his old life, from his name to his hair; the trauma caused by his kidnapping...

Here, not many people talk to him.

His employer, Old Man Barto, gives him orders and complains at his misgivings. Joana, the bath house matron, sometimes scolds him about coming there so often. Other than that, Alibaba talks to no one.

There's no time to that.

Each day, Alibaba comes to the docks, and watches the ships come and go.

—❀—

A month and seven days after Alibaba first arrives to Sindria, as he is sitting on the pier of the docks, someone sits down next to him.

It's a young big brother, hair long and very purple, dressed in simple but quality clothes. His eyes are just as golden as Alibaba's—which, is surprising, considering Alibaba has only seen this color on himself and his own father.

He is not looking at Alibaba, but staring at the ships. Alibaba eventually turns back to the ships, too, but his mind is running, anxiety rising in him. He has been avoiding closeness with adult men for a while, by now.

"...Every day," the big brother eventually begins, voice clear but soft, "you come here." He doesn't turn his head, but is looking at Alibaba from the corners of his eyes. "Are you waiting for someone?"

His hands have been rising toward the center of his chest, but freeze at the question. He doesn't answer.

"Or do you just want to travel?" The young man turns his head toward him, a gentle smile rising on his lips. "I used to do that, back when I was younger. At least, until I went onto my own adventures. Then, I didn't have to imagine anymore."

"...Adventures?" Alibaba can't help but ask, eyes rising hesitantly. The big brother is watching him with an amused, patient smile.

"Hmm," he leans back. "I've been traveling since I was... hm, a bit older than you? Ah, it's been so long. I can't remember what age I was when I first started exactly."

"...Where?" His words escape him. "Where did you go?"

The young man looks amused. "Just about everywhere, I think. Do you want me to tell you about it?" By the twinkle in his eyes, he already knows the answer to that.

But Alibaba can't quite get the words out. A simple yes would be enough, but...

Thankfully, the young man understands even his silence. "Then, how about I start with my first one? I was pretty young back then, yeah. I was forced to leave my hometown, so I jumped onto a boat and—"

The young man continues to talk on and on and on. At first, Alibaba continues to watch the ships, only listening with half an ear, but as the adventure continues, he unconsciously leans in, looking up at the big brother with an open mouth.

At every twist, his eyebrows rising. At every fight, his fists clench. At every victory, his shoulders slump in relief.

He listens intently, knowing that his eyes are shining, just like they did back then, when he spent his days reading upon the adventures of King Sinbad...

By the time this big brother has finished, Alibaba is growing tired, and at least five ships have come and go, their cargos emptied and then refilled. The sky has not grown dark yet, but it doesn't look that far off.

"What's your name, kid?" the big brother asks, after a long pause in which neither of them talked.

Alibaba has curled upon himself by then, hugging his knees to his chest. "...I'm Ali," he says, with strange vulnerability. Ali is far enough from Alibaba, while also making sure that he will react when people call him that, but it still stresses him out to give out the fake name. "Brother, what is your name?"

"You can call me Sin," the young man answers with an easy smile. He doesn't look tired in the least, even after telling such a long (and truthfully exciting) tale. "It's nice to meet you, Ali. Can I hope to see you here tomorrow too?"

...?! Alibaba is unable to keep the surprise from appearing on his face. "I... yes... I suppose." He comes here every day, after all.

"Then, it's a promise," Sin agrees, rising up. "You should head home. I'm sure your parents are worried."

His... parents...? ...haha. The words bring a sharp pain into Alibaba's chest. He turns his face away, hiding his mouth into his elbow, and doesn't answer.

Perhaps having gotten used to his silence by now, Sin only wishes him a good evening, before walking away, humming.

It's only at nightfall that Alibaba gets up. The ships are still coming and going, but it wouldn't be beneficiary in the least if he were to tire himself out for nothing—he still has to work tomorrow.

That is usually how his days go: Alibaba will work from early morning until mid-afternoon (until Old Man Barto chases him away), and will then spend the rest of his day at the docks. In the evening, he will find a nice-enough place to sleep in, usually in the streets.

It is rare, but sometimes, he has to search for a sleeping place in the dense forest. There are no children on the streets, here. The orphanages are full to the brim with all the abandoned children, but... at least, they have a place to live in. Alibaba... can't bear the thought of going there. He's too old, too independent, and too used to living in the slums.

Tonight, there's no need to hide in the forest. He finds himself a nice, dark corner in an alleyway, and persuades himself into sleep.

.

.

.

Sin comes again, the next day.

Although (somewhat) hopeful that he would come back, Alibaba still finds himself startled when he hears him sit down next to him. "...You really came," he mutters in disbelief, eyes going a bit wide.

"I promised, didn't I?" Sin only looks amused. "Here." He extends his hand, in which a slice of an orange-colored fruit is dripping onto his fingers. In his other hand, he holds another slice. "I got two for my friend and I, but he scolded me when I offered it to him. Could you take it off my hands, please?"

Alibaba hesitates, but... Living in Balbadd's Royal Palace for so long must have influenced him more than he thought, because he eventually extends his fingers, too. The flesh of the fruit is cool under his fingers, and the juice is clear like water. Being fed like this is...

Is he like a scared animal, which you can only endear to yourself by feeding it?

...How embarrassing.

He waits until Sin has bitten into his own slice to test his. It's good. Refreshing and sweet, and a very much appreciated treat. He tries his best to eat it as dignifying-ly as possible, but the dripping fruit juice makes it impossible.

(The... the Queen Consort would have killed him for making such a sight.)

Sin is not much better than him, but doesn't seem to care about any of it. He waits until Alibaba has finished eating to speak again. "Today's weather is very warm, isn't it?" he comments off-handedly. "Working was so hard..."

Alibaba nods, but is only half empathetic. Balbadd is a much hotter place. Compared to it, Sindria is like an oasis in the desert.

They fall silent. Sin seems content with only sitting there, quietly. He doesn't say a word about his adventures.

Is he... is he waiting for Alibaba to broach the subject...? An embarrassed flush comes to his ears. "Yesterday..." he begins, voice trailing off when Sin turns to him. But there's no aggression on his face, only an open smile. "Your adventures... they sounded a lot like King Sinbad's."

"...Did they now?" Sin's face goes from confusion to surprise to finally settle on amusement. He smiles with obvious cheer. "Ali, tell me, are you a fan?"

"N-no, that’s not it. Ah, but..." he looks down. "I’d like to meet him some day."

"Really?" Sin looks genuinely interested, an eyebrow rising. "What would you like to tell him, then?"

"Ah, um..." He can’t possibly burden Sin with his problems. And there is a chance he would be forced into an orphanage if people learn about the situation. He is only the illegitimate prince, after all. "It’s nothing."

"Eh, don’t get shy with me, kid," Sin grins, his large hand coming and going on Alibaba's shoulder in a comforting pat. Thankfully, he has wiped it beforehand.

In truth, even if Alibaba isn’t able to contain an automatic flinch, the touch, though a bit rough, is warm. It... reminds him of Mom. She was always gentle, and so, so warm. Holding him into her arms, close to her chest... He hasn’t experienced that ever since she died, ever since he went to the Royal Palace.

And the pirates... Alibaba shivers at the thought.

"Do you have any complaints about the kingdom?" Sin continues. His hand stays upon the top of Alibaba’s shoulder, the weight both a scary reminder of what has happened and a soft touch of hopefulness as to what the future can hold. "I’m sure you have something to say about how he’s leading."

"I, uh," he looks away. "Not really." He barely knows anything about how Sindria works. "I just... I wanted to ask him about his adventures."

"Is that so?" He seems smug about something.

What is there to be smug about? And, in the first place, isn't Sin copying King Sinbad's style of adventure? Or perhaps he's just embellishing his own tales by adding pieces of King Sinbad's... Either way, it's perhaps not a good idea to mention this again. Even if he has been nothing but welcoming so far, angering Sin is the last thing he wants to do.

"...Never mind," Alibaba says, turning away and lightly shrugging off the hand. "I will never meet him, anyway." At least, he hopes not...

"Why don’t I tell you about some of mine then?" Sin suggests lightly.

"I..." he ducks his chin down. "If it’s not too much trouble..."

Sin looks at him like one might their child, with fondness and amusement clear in his eyes. "Well, I’ve got one that might interest you. It all began when me and my friends went to an island south of Sindria..."

—❀—

This easygoing, peaceful life he has established... crumbles not even a month later.

"I can't keep employing you," old man Barto tells him, with barely a hint of guilt on his face. "It's illegal to employ kids without their parents' permission, and..." and Alibaba cannot possibly get his parents' permission, which is why he has refused to introduce his parents to the old man many times by now. "Sorry, kid."

With that, Alibaba's life stumbles to a stop.

If he doesn't get a job anymore, then it means he doesn't get money. If he doesn't get money, then it means he won't get food. If he doesn't get food, then... he might as well go to the orphanage.

But he can't. He can't.

He's a kid of the slums. He's the Third Prince of Balbadd. If the officials of Balbadd learned he was still alive, living here peacefully... If that person knew...

He can't.

And so, Alibaba wanders the streets aimlessly, until finally, his step lead him back to the docks. He sits at his usual place, a definite slump to his shoulders.

It's there that Sin finds him. "Are you sulking?" is the first thing he asks, his voice heavily painted in incredulity. "I've never seen you this gloomy before," he comments, almost carelessly. "What happened? You can tell this big brother!"

Alibaba turns away from him, pouting even more (if that was possible). "Well...! Since I’m gloomy..."

Sin laughs. "Don’t take it badly. I’m just not used to seeing you act your age."

Ah, so he's just concerned, after all...? Alibaba deflates, and uncrosses his arms, looking down at his lap. "It’s nothing. I’m just..." wondering how he’ll survive now. If he can survive. If he wants to survive.

"That’s not very convincing." As he says that, Sin sits down next to him, leaning forward to catch a glimpse of his face. "Kid, please be honest with me."

"Hm?"

"At which orphanage do you live?" Sin looks unusually serious, mouth set in a grim line and frowning eyebrows set with determination.

"...None?"

"Who are your parents, then?"

Unconsciously, he turns his head away, hands fidgeting. "Why are you asking me this?"

"I’ve heard from old Barto. You’ve been working for him, right?"

"Yes... Until recently, I was." He's tempted to gain back his pout, but can’t possibly continue to be this unsightly in front of his only friend.

"Did you get your parents’ permission? It’s compulsory for children here."

"...No," Alibaba admits, a bit shamefully. "I’ve never needed it before."

"Admitting to breaking the law?" Sin grins jokingly, then sobers up again. "Why don't you get your parents’ permission? I’m sure they would accept if they knew how hard working you are."

Honestly, he wishes he could show them. Mom would probably protest at having her young son work, and King Rashid would probably be grumpy about his Third Prince working like a peasant. But maybe they would recognize how determined he is.

(...The Consort Queen would kill him.)

"I can’t," Alibaba says thoughtlessly, lost in his imagination. He wishes he weren’t alone here. If only he had Kassim... even just the horrible First Prince would be enough. Just a little piece of home...

"What do you mean you can’t?"

Is he getting suspicious? Sin's tone is as light as ever, but Alibaba has gotten good at reading people—it's a necessary skill, both in the slums and in the Royal Palace's halls. "Um, I mean—!" Alibaba is too flustered to speak calmly. "I’m doing this to, to surprise them with a gift, so I thought the gift wouldn’t be as much of a surprise if they knew I was working..."

"Eeh," Sin smiles, gaining back his usual carefree demeanor. "You’re thinking this much about your parents? How cute."

Alibaba flushes guiltily, and turns an even deeper red when Sin ruffles his hair, his hand as big and as warm as ever.

"But you know, even if you have pure intentions, it’s still illegal for you to work without their permission." Sin removes his hand. "Why don’t you just tell them that you want to save up for later? It could still be a surprise when you get them something. If they love you this much, I’m sure anything you gift them would be fine."

Alibaba deflates. He definitely can’t do that.

When he looks back up, Sin is looking at him carefully (no doubt having seen the flurry of emotions on his face). He seems pensive.

"Is there... is there truly no other way?" Alibaba begs, almost losing his voice in the middle of his query.

Sin stays quiet. His head turns to the direction of the sea. "...I’ve got an idea," he says, eventually. "Why don’t you work for me?"

...eh?

"Old man Barto said he would get in trouble if he employed me. Won’t it be the same for you?" Alibaba asks cautiously. "I don’t want to cause you trouble."

"Cute," Sin grins. "But don’t worry about me. I have a... higher social status than that old man." There definitely is something more to his words, but he doesn’t expend on it. "As long as my advisor is fine with it, everything should be fine."

"Y-your advisor?!" Just what is Sin’s job, if he has need for an advisor?!

"Yup! But don’t worry, as long as I explain to him your circumstances, everything should be fine!"

—❀—

"Absolutely not."

"What? But Ja’far—"

"No, Sin. If the king starts to make exceptions — even if it’s just for himself — then others might follow your example." Ja’far is unreasonable on that point. "Is that what you’ve been doing for the past month? Missing your duties in order to bother some kid outside?"

"Ah, don’t phrase it like that," Sinbad chuckles. "Ali is quite lonely, you know. At first, I thought he was in an orphanage, but it turns out he has parents. With how much time he spends outside, I would never have guessed... I wonder if they treat him well?"

He (very obviously) is trying to tug on Ja’far’s heartstrings, and it isn’t working. It isn't! "And why does that make you obligated to spend hours with him? Does he even know who you are?"

Sinbad leans back in his seat. "I don’t think he realizes... I introduced myself as Sin, and he’s never commented on it. He looked surprised when I said the law was different with me."

Ja’far sighs longly. "So you want him to work here, yet you haven’t even told him who you are? Stop giving him false hope, Sin. Can’t you just go to his parents and explain the situation? I’m sure it’ll be fine as long as the kid doesn’t know."

Sinbad stays silent, his eyes fixed upon the horizon. "Maybe."

"What job would he have here, anyway? He can’t be a servant — that would be physical labour and I will never accept that for a child. And from what you’ve told me of him, he doesn’t seem like a very studious child, if he’s spending all his time in the streets."

"Ah, you wanted him to work in the library? As I thought," he grins up at his friend, "Ja’far, you want to meet the kid, don’t you? You’re already thinking of what job he should have."

Ja’far turns away, but the tips of his ears are flushed. "Of course not! I’m just trying to prove that he can’t possibly work here."

"Why don’t you ask him yourself?" Sinbad suggests. "He can come here and you can do your little interview."

Ja’far frowns, but then sighs. "I know what you’re trying to do."

Sinbad gives him a winning smile. "Is it working?"

—❀—

"Um, Mister Sin..."

"Yes?"

"Isn’t this... the Royal Palace?" That clearly isn’t what Alibaba imagined when he agreed to the interview. "Is it really alright for me to be here?"

"Of course," Sin says, carefree as usual. "Just stick close to me and you should be fine."

"...Just what is your status?" Ali mutters, visibly blanching.

Sin doesn’t answer. Maybe it's for the better — Ali is on the verge of having a heart attack. Does he need to call him "Lord Sin," after all? Just who is this man?! How can someone who carelessly sits next to a homeless kid at the docks every day be someone of high stature!

.

.

.

They lead him to the library, and his eyes immediately light up.

"So?" Sinbad asks, once Ali is too preoccupied by the library to pay them any attention. He leans in to whisper. "What do you think?"

"...Fine," Ja'far eventually agrees. "But you better take care of him, Sin."

He laughs, carefree, watching as Ali's eyes shine in excitement. The kid is just too adorable. "Of course, of course."

"That kid obviously looks up to you," Ja’far tells him, tone foreboding. "Be careful, or you will break his heart."

—❀—

Alibaba really does start working at the Palace's library, then.

It's not especially hard work, but it takes a lot of time, especially for someone like him who is still unfamiliar with the way the books are classified. Thankfully, although sometimes gruff, the official who takes care of this section is patient with him.

There's also a girl who has set her mind on befriending him, for some obscure reason. Her name is Suha. A simple maid for the East side, she is endlessly kind with him, even if she keeps making his organized piles of books fall down.

There also are some other people who are nice to him. A man named Sharrkan, who constantly fights with a woman named Yamuraiha. A woman who looks like a little girl and whose name is Pisti. An uncle with a nice laugh whose name is Hinahoho. A quiet man named Spartos, and a lizard-man (appropriately) named Drakon. They all seem to be friends with Ja'far, Masrur, and Sin. Perhaps they all work in the same field? Nonetheless, Alibaba enjoys his interactions with them endlessly.

The pay is good, too. Much better than what he was getting when working at the docks. But he supposes you can't really compare working for a civilian to working for the Royalty... By the way, who is his employer? Is it really Sin? Wouldn't that make him...?

Well. It doesn't matter. (It's better not to think about it.)

After he begins working there, the days pass by peacefully.

Although there are some dorms for the employees of the Palace, he still sleeps in the streets—he couldn't possibly ask Sin for more than he has already given him. It makes a bit of a long track every morning and evening, but it's more than worth it. In only two weeks, Alibaba manages to double his funds. He now has enough money that, if he wanted to, he could leave Sindria immediately. He doesn't, but...

Sin visits him a lot.

There's a lot that changed after he began working at the Palace, but this doesn't change. Every day, Sin comes eat lunch with him. "There's this one dish that I wanted you to try..." he says, sometimes, before going on and on about this sindrian specialty.

He doesn't get it.

Alibaba is very much aware that it's just an excuse, and that Sin doesn't really invite him to lunch every day only to make him discover Sindria's culinary culture. He's aware that Sin would come whether there even were a Sindrian culinary culture or not. He's aware that Sin comes to visit him in particular, but...

—He just doesn't understand why.

Why him? The boy who sat at the docks each day, listless. The boy who flinches away from brisk moves. The boy who flinches away from loud noises... Why him?

Him, who was driven away by his own blood family... Him, who was sold to pirates... Him, who...

...who was almost killed by...

He doesn't get it.

On his part, Sin doesn't seem perturbed by it all. He smiles at him every time, without fail, looking at the same time both amused and smug, like he's seeing something others can't, like he's purposefully messing with Alibaba's head. He makes small talk about the weather or about the books or about the latest fight between Yamuraiha and Sharrkan or about that one time Ja'far scolded him for hours or the face Pisti made when she saw the color her tiger's fur had been dyed into...

Maybe Sin's a magician, too. It would explain why, without fail, Alibaba always leaves their lunch together with a smile and a spring in his step.

.

.

.

The kid's adorable.

He's the shy type. Looking up at him with wide eyes when he's not looking, tilting his head down to hide his smile, growing anxious when Sinbad is late to their daily lunch. Avoiding his eyes when complimented, blushing till his ears and neck are a bright red...

He's wary, too. Very, very wary. He looks at every corner like he's expecting someone to jump out and attack him, flinches away when Sharrkan and Yamuraiha argue too loudly, freezes up when someone pats his shoulder... It's worrying, but Sinbad has grown used to it.

The others, not as much.

"Should we do something about it?" Ja'far asks more than once, forgetting that he is supposed to be against Ali's presence in the Palace. "His parents? What about his parents?"

Each time, Masrur offers a silent shake of his head.

"Probably don't exist, huh?" Sharrkan says, once. "He looks like he grew up in the street."

"Certainly not a native..." Yamuraiha mutters in response. "But he's very fond about the story of Sindria—you know, he keeps coming back to me to hear about it again."

The two then dissolve into another fight about which is more popular (with Ali, or with children in general?).

—About such a thing, Sinbad already knows the answer. He's acted dumb so far, but it's obvious to him. This poor child, he's been abandoned, hasn't he? Driven away, perhaps. He has the reflexes of an abused child, a child who has gotten used to being hit without aim or reason.

But such a quiet, obedient child? A sweet kid, like Ali? It doesn't make sense. His parents must have been the devils of this world.

There's also the possibility that his parents are the ones at fault. But it would mean that he was taken (or given) away by another group of people—slavers, perhaps.

And why sit at the docks for hours on ends? Is he waiting for someone?

Sinbad would very much like to question Ali about it all; to ask him what happened to him, and how to help him heal; to ask him who he is waiting for with so much patience and fear. But he can't, for he fears Ali would run away at the slightest hint of suspicion on his part. This poor child probably would feel backed into a corner, and would choose to run away rather than chance falling back into the hands of whoever hurt him.

"That kid obviously looks up to you," Ja’far told him. "Be careful, or you will break his heart."

So he bides his time.

—❀—

"Come on," maid Suha cheers on with a bright smile. "I promise it'll be fun!"

There's this one Sindrian feast that Alibaba is impatient to partake in.

It comes every year, without fail, for it celebrates the birth of the country. Alibaba has heard the story a number of times, most of the time from Yamuraiha (although Sharrkan sometimes butts in to show off and boast about his "amazing" and "otherworldly" sword fighting abilities... and to bother his crush-rival-friend).

He is acutely aware it's a bit of a hard tale, that Yamuraiha is sometimes caught in between a grieving and a forced cheery expression when she tells him about it... but isn't that the most beautiful part of it all? Getting up after going through such an experience...

Will he be able to do it too?

...They say you can see the King at this feast.

Alibaba still isn't sure how to talk to him, or even what he would say to him, but it's not exactly an opportunity he can pass up, is it? Even if he doesn't really approach the King, he could at the very least look at him from afar...

And so, Alibaba finally agrees to go.

"Eh? You're really going?" Sin acts surprised when he tells him, but there's a pleased air to his face. "With your friend, huh? If I had known you would agree to come, I would have invited you first..."

"I'll come see you," Alibaba promises.

"It'll be fun," Sin says, just as Suha did. "You'll get to see Sharrkan getting drunk until he passes out, and maybe Pisti will do an event with her animals this year again..." He continues on about how many things Alibaba will be able to see, bright and proud grin on his face.

It only results in making him a mess of both nervousness and excitement. He awaits the day anxiously, both for the chance to see Sindria's beauty and the risk that something will go wrong. Because if there's a chance of something going wrong, then something will go wrong.

...But surprisingly, the days pass on as peacefully as ever.

Alibaba doesn't partake in the preparations for the feast (it wouldn't really make sense for the library to have anything to do with drinking, eating, or entertainment...), but he witnesses the others run around the Palace in a hurry.

.

.

.

The day finally comes in.

The feast begins in the evening, when the sky has turned starry and the torches have been lit. Sweet and savory aromas mix in the air, accompanied by the scent of strong beer and rich wine. Performers and dancers alike on the stage.

Suha drags him around, linking their elbows together. She laughs brightly, the torches illuminating her face and lighting a sparkle in her eyes.

For one night, Alibaba forgets who he is.

Almost.

It's about two hours into the feast that he finally breaches the subject, having grown too anxious to ignore it any longer. "I haven’t seen the King yet," he admits, lowering his voice a little.

"What, really?" Suha sounds genuinely incredulous. "But we work for him...?"

"Um, is it considered working for him...?" Is that equal to working for the King? Maybe it is... "At the library..."

"Then, surely you’ve met him! Recently they’ve been saying that he goes to the library every day at noon!"

"...at noon...?"

"Yes," Suha nods seriously, eyes wandering about the crowd. "Wait, I see him! He’s right there, with his generals right next to him! See? That’s Sir Ja’far and Sir Masrur! It’s weird to see their table there. Don’t you think that’s kind of too in the back? We can barely see them... Usually, they're right in the middle of the feast!"

"...Ja’far and Masrur...?"

"Can you see him? Ah, um, he’s the man with purple hair."

Alibaba doesn’t answer.

"Ali?"

His head is swimming, eyes set on Ja’far and Masrur. In between them, sitting and enjoying the feast—Sin, with his unmistakable grin. Sin, who is the first friend he made here. Sin, who has been nothing but warm and gentle with him. Sin, who visits him every day without fail. Sin, who...

Sin, which is so obviously short for Sinbad.

King Sinbad.

.

.

.

The feast is already going full swing and Sinbad is already tipsy when Ali finally appears.

"Ah, Ali!" Sinbad greets joyously, lifting his cup at his arrival. "Where have you been? We’ve been waiting for you!"

Ali sits down obediently. "Sorry, I was with a friend," he says shortly. He seems not too happy about something, but it's hard to say what. Nothing appears to be wrong per say, except for the fact that his eyes are somewhat shadowed by his fringe.

"You know," Ali begins, voice purposefully light, quiet. It's the first sign that something is really wrong. "My friend— she just told me something interesting."

"Is that so?" Sinbad says, tone just as light. But sweat is already going down his back, and Ja’far and Masrur have gone silent, gazes fixed upon the two of them.

"Hmm." His eyes are still partly hidden, but just by the parts that are left in the light, resentment can be seen clearly on his face. It's... admittedly, not hard to guess what he has just learned.

Still, Sinbad has to ask, if only to confirm. "What was it about?"

Ali finally straightens in his seat, and thus Sinbad is able to see that his eyes are askew, as if the sight of him is unbearable. "About the King of Sindria."

"...is that so?"

...so it really is like that.

There definitely are tears shining in Ali’s eyes. Has he made the kid cry? Ja’far’s accusing glare and Masrur’s judgmental stare, coupled with Ali’s tears, are unbearably harsh on his poor self.

"...Why didn’t you tell me?" Ali still isn’t looking at him, and this time he turns his face away too. Even as he asks his question, it seems like he doesn’t really care for his answer.

Is he afraid of rejection? Shit, he has really messed up on that one.

"I wanted to tell you," he says, sincerely. "You didn’t seem to realize who I was at first, and I thought it harmless, that you would recognize me soon. But when you came to the Palace, you still didn’t realize... I was afraid you would get scared off, then, if I told you. There just never seemed to be the time for me to say."

Ali stays quiet, but his head slowly faces Sinbad’s way. His eyes are still watery, but no tears have dropped yet. He looks at the people below like they might give him an answer.

Ja’far and Masrur are still silent, though Ja’far looks like he's about to dash in to comfort Ali.

"...So you were that kind of man, after all," Ali finally says. He gets up, finally glances at Sinbad’s eyes, then turns away and flees.

There is only silence, then.

"Sin—" Ja’far stops, abruptly falling quiet.

Sinbad sighs, leaning onto his elbows and crossing his fingers. He stares into Ali’s retreating figure, burning the image into his memory. "I never expected it would get this far," he admits in a mutter. "Ah, what to do? He’s got me totally wrapped around his finger."

"What?" Ja’far has always been able to read him best, but this time, even he seems stumped.

"How to put it simply?" he muses aloud, going for a joking tone even as his chest is throbbing with spikes of painful anxiety. The truth is, you never know the worth of something until it slips right through your fingers. "I really want to protect him."

"...what?"

.

.

.

The feast is still ongoing, but Alibaba feels too sick, too raw. His scalp has gone numb with anxiety, and his limbs feel like they are not his own. He retreats to a secluded spot in the Palace’s garden.

Huffing and puffing from having run his way there, he collapses onto a bench, closing his eyes. Some tears escape, and when he opens his eyes again, he can barely see the night sky at all. The stars blurr together in an unsightly mess.

Alibaba feels worse than betrayed — he feels sullied. Here is a man he has trusted just as much as his mother, the first man he has ever really trusted... only to be so obviously betrayed.

But that isn’t the worst of it.

No, the worst part is that Alibaba is just as bad — if not worse. He is hiding his identity, too, an identity that risks causing political trouble if not tightly guarded.

How will Sin (King Sinbad—does he have to call him that now?) react when he realizes just who Alibaba is? He has heard stories about the King of Sindria and King Rashid organizing favorable trades, but are they truly allies? Friends? It's hard to say, and Alibaba can’t take the risk. Not only would it endanger himself, but it would also cause trouble for both his father and Sin (King Sinbad—he needs to remember).

He had been planning on telling the King his identity as soon as he felt comfortable enough. It would have secured him an escort back home, but it simply isn’t possible anymore.

Because— because the truth is—

He doesn’t want to go back.

Go back to a life in the Royal Palace’s walls, locked in his room or in the library, with a family that either hates him or can't bear to be seen with him, with servants that aren't allowed to say more than three words to him, with the knowledge that Kassim is still outside, struggling to survive, and that Alibaba can’t help him at all...

...or stay here, where he is fed, has a bed, and is free to go wherever he pleases. Where he has friends, where he can talk to anyone he wants to. Where there is the annoying Sin, there is the worrywart Ja’far, there is big brother Masrur, where there are Sharrkan, Pisti, Yamuraiha, and everyone else...

Going back to his old life, and risk the friendships with Sin (King Sinbad—the king, the king...) and his entourage... is it worth it?

The answer is clear.

.

.

.

And so, Alibaba decides, never again will he speak a word about his true identity.

—❀—

The following day comes like nothing happened. At noon, Sinbad goes to the library as usual. The librarian sends him a bit of a hard look, as he usually does whenever his protégé is feeling down, but otherwise lets him enter.

Ali isn’t at their usual table. In fact, he is still working, classifying books in the botanic section. Sinbad sits at a nearby table, not saying a word, and waits patiently.

"I’m not angry," Ali eventually says, "if that’s what you’re trying to ask." Even so, he doesn’t turn around, and Sinbad is unable to see his expression.

"Not even a little bit?" Sinbad tries for a joking tone, voice soft. "I would understand if you were," he says more seriously. "It was very unfair on you."

Ali’s shoulders tighten. Rather than comforted, he is looking more and more tense. "No, it’s fine. It’s me who’s being unfair."

"I don’t see how." Is it Ali’s low self-esteem that makes him think that way? Blaming himself when it truly isn’t his fault... it doesn’t seem too out of character. "Ali, I’m sorry. Can you accept my apology, please?"

"I should be the one who’s sorry," Ali mutters, voice barely hearable, but he does turn around, clutching the book he is holding to his chest. He doesn’t meet Sinbad’s eyes.

"Ali?"

He sighs, turning his face away, but not before glancing shyly at Sinbad’s pouty face. "Stop making that face. It makes you look like a child. Of course, I accept your apology." He pauses, lowering his eyes. "...Should I call you Lord Sinbad now?"

"I’m still the same person, you know," Sinbad says softly. "I’m still Sin."

"So Sin is fine?" Ali clarifies. He looks flustered, like calling the King by a nickname is an enormous privilege.

Sinbad nods, cheered up at seeing Ali act like a child his age. "Sin is more than fine."

Ali’s cheeks flush, but he looks relieved. There are dark circles under his eyes, coupled with a certain redness that speak of a night spent crying. Sinbad feels guilt stab into him, but lets nothing of it appear on his face. He has slept badly, too, if at all.

He... never imagined it would this hard, to care for a child. Even Ja'far and Masrur hadn't given him so much grief. Or perhaps he's just matured, since. Perhaps he's just more aware of just how fragile children can be.

Who knows.

It doesn't matter. As long as he can protect him...

As long as he doesn't leave.

.

.

.

Alibaba can't bear the sight of him.

The guilt chokes him. It makes every breath impossible, makes his throat and lungs and stomach pulse and twist and turn. His scalp goes numb every time Sin starts speaking, in anticipation for when the words finally fall from his mouth.

I know who you are.

—That's what his nightmares tell him.

I know who you are. I know who you are. I know who you are.

You can't escape.

Alibaba Saluja, Third Prince of Balbadd. Kassim and Mariam's unwanted brother. Anise's son. The King's son. Illegitimate son. Bastard. Scum of the slums. Thief and stealer, criminal, murderer. I know who you are.

Hated child. Useless, useless child. I know who you are.

The child

who

could

not

even

die.

This is what the Palace's halls whisper. People around the corners, birds in trees and insects underground. The books and their hushed murmurs. The tapping of the servants' hurried errands. Ja'far's worried scolding, Masrur's silent gaze. Sharrkan's childish boasting, Yamuraiha's gentle voice.

Sin's carefree laugh.

It hurts.

.

.

.

If Ali was silent before, now he is more silent than a tombstone—and there, at least, there would be the wind.

Perhaps he hasn't entirely accepted the fact that Sinbad lied to him for so long. It would explain his reticence in talking to him, at the very least.

What it doesn't explain, however...

"Sin... I... I..."

"Hm?"

"I'm...! I...!" Then, suddenly, a shake of his head, lowering, as his hair tries to hide the painful expression on his face. "...Nothing."

—This sort of scenario, it has happened too often as of late.

It happened once or twice, before the reveal about Sinbad's identity. But it was never as severe. Ali would always bounce back up—with less enthusiasm than before, but he would. Now, however... he goes silent, an obvious pain on his face and in his posture. Sometimes, his hand goes around his neck, as though trying to claw off a hand choking him. It's not rare to see crescent moon-shaped imprints on his throat, nowadays.

Sinbad's doubts are confirmed—at least partly.

Ali is keeping a secret.

Well, admittedly, it's not hard to figure that out. He'd already known from the beginning. At first, he thought it might have been about his parents (or rather, the lack thereof), but now... Why would Ali insist on dyeing his hair with black ink, even after he has to stop pretending he has a family, if not because his identity by itself pauses a risk?

That, he's figured it out. He knows Ali is hiding his identity.

Now, only one question remains unanswered:

Just who is "Ali"?


	2. REWRITE FINALLY OUT :D

Hello everyone!! So sorry for the wait!! The rewrite's 1st chapter is finally out! [HERE](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22331932). Thank you for the wait.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.


End file.
